Their Savage Eyes Turned To A Modest

Conceit, More Rich In Matter Than In Words, Brags Of His Substance, Not Of Ornament: They Are But Beggars That Can Count Their Worth; But My True Love Is Grown To Such Excess, I Cannot Sum Up Half My Sum Of Wealth.

Not Proud You Have, But Thankful That You Have. Proud Can I Never Be Of What I Hate, But Thankful Even For Hate That Is Meant Love.

Speak Of Me As I Am. Nothing Extenuate, Nor Set Down Aught In Malice.

He's Mad That Trusts In The Tameness Of A Wolf.

Dissembling Courtesy! How Fine This Tyrant Can Trickle When She Wounds!